


All in the name of love

by TheBiPenguin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Medical Trauma, Medicine, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7988920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBiPenguin/pseuds/TheBiPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' big heart and brilliant mind eventually lead him into a career in medicine. Fifteen years on and he's the clinical lead of the emergency department at Beacon Hills General. </p><p>Derek had always been in awe of Stiles, his abilities and his kindness. They've met a few times, but, Derek's never been able to get close to him. </p><p>Then, when Cora is involved in a bad accident they're suddenly thrown together in a totally different scenario to any of the ones Derek had hoped for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter

To anyone who didn't live there, winter in the heavily sheltered town of Beacon Hills probably wouldn't sound that intense, benefiting from the thick blockade of trees that was the preserve on one side and the high rise of the ground on the other. Boy, were they wrong.

The high ground upon which the town was built meant that they endured the most scorching sun exposure in summer and the harshest of the winter winds. It was currently January and the snow was three inches deep. The town's council had arranged for the main roads through the town to be plowed and salted, but, in a rural little outpost like this, that left a lot of tarmac at the mercy of the weather. 

And the weather up this high was fickle, casting down a heavy cover of soft, perfect snow then melting it to slush under the bright winter sun, only to refreeze it into an invisible glass floor during the chill of the night. 

So, it was with extreme caution that Derek drove his Camero at the slowest he thought he'd ever driven down from the preserve towards the main road leading into town, his tires sliding helplessly on the polished ground as he made each agonizing turn. Even with automatic skid control it was a nerve wracking journey, which took him nearly an hour despite being barely twenty minutes during the summer. 

His knuckles were white, not from the cold but from his tense grip on the steering wheel. He could see his shaky breath in front of his face as he maneuvered carefully down the twisting road under the heavily snow laden branches of the preserve. As he made a particularly sharp left, a rabbit dashed across the road in front him, it's paws skidding from underneath it as it slid into the snow gathered in the lay-by. Derek swerved to avoid it, the Camero's wheels locking and sliding in slow motion to a halt just inches from the ditch. 

"Fuck's sake!" He exhaled in relief. "I'm going back to New York, where they actually bother to grit the roads." 

He gently pressed his heavy boot to the accelerator, inching his way onward. 

When he finally reached the main road leading into the town, he picked up a little speed, his frustration beginning to wane. There was practically no traffic, no one wanted to be out in this. He didn't either, but, living out in the preserve didn't leave him much choice and they needed groceries. Well, he supposed they could have hunted rabbits by the looks of it, but, he wasn't quite that desperate yet. Besides, he'd promised to meet Cora on her lunch break. 

Derek parked a block from the supermarket and conceded to carry the bags a little further in exchange for being parked right outside the coffee shop he and Cora had agreed to meet at. It was a small place, cozy, with comfy, fabric sofas and chairs and warm yellow lighting reflecting of the rustic wooden interior. As soon as he'd deposited the grocery bags in the boot, he pressed his numb thumb against the lock button, barely waiting to here to confirmation bleep before hurrying through the shop's glass front door.

The bell chimed a chirpy little tune as he was welcomed into the warm, coffee filled air. Derek shrugged off his thicker, faux-fur lined version of his signature leather jacket, throwing it onto one fo the armchairs facing out the glass front towards the road before joining the long queue of eager customers. The queue may have been long, a testament to both the chill outside as well as the pleasantness of the shop. Smiling baristas worked their warm hands with the speed of experience as they powered through the seemingly endless stream of orders. Within a few minutes, Derek had a steaming mug of hot chocolate between his thawed hands, a pink marshmallow floating in its' centre and had relaxed into the armchair by the window to wait for his sister. 

He didn't think he'd ever seen Cora be on time for anything, so her lateness didn't concern him. He browsed through the Facebook app on his phone, fondly remembering the summer from the many snaps people had taken of him, tanned and carelessly dressed in denim shorts and flipflops.  

It was over twenty minutes later when he saw Cora's blue Taurus approaching the shop head on along the slope. He tucked his phone into his pocket and waved at her through the glass. She didn't see him. still too far away. He felt kind of silly, he was just glad to see her, it had been over a fortnight.

Cora worked as a probation officer and her caseload had been a little crazy lately. Derek understood and was immensely proud of her, but, he still missed her. 

The lights at the cross roads changed and she pulled forwards carefully, the morning grit beginning to loose effect. Through the tinted windshield Derek saw her toothy smile fall, her head turning to the left to look, wide eyed up the road at something out of Derek's line of sight. He watched in helpless terror as a large white van slid down the hill into view, it's driver's arms flailing as he tried to turn the wheel away, and slammed into the side of the Taurus, smashing in the driver's side window and sending his sister spinning down the road and out of sight. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Stiles drained the dregs of his third coffee of the shift and discarded the mug in the sink. He paused in front of the mirror to straighten his bright red scrubs, shaking his head in mild amazement for the thousandth time at the little white letters on his breast pocket.

**Emergency Consultant.**

He quickly popped a couple of mints in his mouth before rubbing his tired eyes and heading back out into the ward, clicking the break room door closed carefully behind him. 

It was unusual for an consultant to be working in minors, but, Stiles wasn't exactly typical. The bad whether meant the number patients presenting to the overwhelmed A and E department with seasonally typical conditions, such as flu and broken wrists from falling on the ice, were through the roof.

His juniors were scuttling about between their own cubicles and the nurses station, listing out management plans for specialist referral and further investigations at breath defying speed. Stiles walked through the chaos with a characteristic calmness. He was the consultant in resusc today, but, at half past midday no one was currently in any of the bays that Stiles wasn't happy to leave the registrars to handle. It had been a long night, but, he was now eighteen hours into his twenty-five hour shift and with the coming of daylight, resusc. had died down to wait for the next nights influx.

So for now, he was helping the guys out in minors, ordering their lab tests for them and bringing them the reports from imaging they'd ordered so that each doctor could manage more patients simultaneously. They were a good team, Stiles new each and every one of them by name despite their large number. He was just finishing placing a cannula into the arm of a frail looking eighty-four year old woman named Edith with an obvious chest infection when a familiar voice echoed over the departments tannoy.

"Adult trauma call, ten minutes. That's adult trauma call in ten minutes." 

He sighed. He was tired and had kind of hoped there'd be no more red phone calls on his shift. He made sure Edith was comfortable and warm enough beneath the thin, green hospital blankets the nurses had layered over slight frame, before heading back to resusc.

When he arrived, the team were already assembling themselves. The bed had been wiped down and sterile trolleys lined up alongside with different airway tubes and cannulae stacked up on the white cover sheets. The nurses tied disposable aprons over their fronts as the doctors donned various blue ponchos with their assigned role in large black letters on both front and back.

"Okay, good afternoon ladies and gents." He clapped his hands loudly, bringing the still moving team to attention. "Don't stop. Who's my airway doctor?" 

"Me." 

"Breathing."

"Here." 

"Circulation." 

"Yeah."

"Disability."

"Here." 

"And who's my anesthetist?" 

"I am."

"Perfect, thank you. Nurses, who's on notes?" 

"Me." 

"And have I got two more for interventions?" 

"Here." 

"Here." 

He smiled proudly as his team finished their carefully rehearsed preparations and came to a stand still, lined up neatly on either side of the bed as they awaited the patient's arrival. They were good. They were very good. 

He didn't have long to goat about it though as the automatic doors at the end of the hallway opened, letting in a brief but cutting breeze as the trolley wheeled in from the ambulance and into the bay between the two rows of staff, two paramedics in tow. One of them, a petite blonde woman with a tight ponytail and remarkably unspoiled make up despite her understandably disheveled green jumpsuit turned to Stiles while her partner helped the team transfer the young woman from the trolley to the bed. 

"This is Cora Hale." The paramedic spoke with a confidence and clarity which defied her young age. "Aged twenty six. She was the driver of a car involved in a lateral collision to her left side with the front of a van which was over double the size of her car. She has an injury to the right side of her head. We've put a cervical collar on her and a pelvic binder as she has an injury to her left hip. She's been given 0.15mg of morphine so far." 

"Is the other driver coming in too?" Stiles looked worried, they hadn't mentioned a second trauma team being needed. 

"No, no. He's okay. Another ambulance is bringing him into minors."

"Okay. Thank you." The paramedics nodded sharply and vanished back out the way they came as the team began their primary assessments. 

"Speak to me guys." he prompted. 

"GCS is 3." 

"Intubate her then, please. Let's not bother with the laryngeal in case she vomits." 

"BP is eighty over sixty-four."

"Let's get a 16G cannula in both arms." 

"Glucose is 5.2"

"That's fine. 1 litre of saline then please," 

"Heart rate's 99." 

"Understandably." 

"SATs at 86%" 

"Can we get some Oxygen on that tube then, start with 15 litres until she's at 98% then bring it down." 

"Boss. I'm struggling with this airway.!" 

"Okay, don't panic." It was a slightly hypocritical statement, but he knew it was the right one nonetheless. 

"SATs down at 80." 

"Could the anesthetist help intubate please, then cannulas after if we need help?" The broad shouldered man made his way to the head of the bed, taking the laryngoscope from the registrars shaky hands and easily sliding the tube in on the first attempt. The crestfallen young woman shook her head in annoyance as she attached the oxygen and dialed it up to 15L/min. 

"You'll get it." He assured, throwing her a warm smile across the bay. "I hate intubating too. That's why he's here to help." 

"SATs are up at 94%" 

"Good. Is our blood pressure coming up too?" 

"Yeah. One-ten over eighty-eight." 

"Fantastic. Maria, if the airway is secure could you take a look at her pupils for me, please?"

"Both equal and reactive."

"Good so we can leave her on the saline. Okay, Sean, can you call radiology and order me a CT head, neck, chest and pelvis please. Simone could you take a full blood count and send another sample for ABO typing too. Do we have some O neg to hand just in case?" 

"Yeah." 

"Okay, if her BP falls again give her O neg FFP not more saline. I need to call theatre and let them know we'll likely be needing them."

By the time he'd finished briefing the surgical team on Cora Hale's possible spinal cord, brain and pelvic injuries, radiology were ready.

"Let's go, guys." His little army trailed behind their charge as she was wheeled down the hallway towards a large set of double doors marked Emergency CT. 


	2. Reunions

Derek pulled into the hospital car park with reckless speed and practically ran up to the Accident and Emergency reception desk.

They hadn't let him go in the ambulance with Cora, that wasn't a good sign. A middle aged woman, with dark hair and skin and an unnaturally white smile ushered him into the family room, offering him a cup of tea, which he declined as politely as he could make himself. It was a little room with large canvases of flowers and open fields beneath blue skies in place of windows. It was nauseatingly cheery. He dropped heavily onto the firm red, leather sofa and let his head fall forwards into his hands. 

He was suddenly exhausted. overcome with all the emotions ricocheting around his body. He cried harder than he had since they'd lost their parents. He couldn't do it again. He couldn't lose another sister, she was his only family. It was selfish and he felt like shit for it. Cora was barely an adult, she had her whole life ahead of her. He loved her so much. As the flood of his tears slowed and his breathing began to level into a numb calmness, he found himself begging every deity he'd never believed in to help his baby sister, to just let her walk away from this okay. 

He was sat completely still and in total silence when a breathless Scott came hurrying into the little room.

"Hey man. You okay?" He was wheezing, on the brink of an asthma attack. He must have run.

Derek could only nod shakily. He was in too much shock to be as touched as he would otherwise have been that Scott had dropped everything to be here with him. They were good friends, he and Cora played for the same lacrosse team and they'd hosted enough team events at their house that eventually Derek had become close with a number of her team mates. 

Scott fell onto the sofa beside him and squeezed his shoulder in one strong hand.

"Hey. She's in the best possible place. I've known Stiles for years, he's been my best friend since school and he's the best there is." He smiled weakly.

Derek was sure all of it was true and he wanted to be reassured, but, every time he blinked the image of Cora's terrified face flashed in front of his closed eyes. They sat in tense silence for what felt like an age until a slim man in red scrubs stepped into the room. Derek looked up and bright, amber eyes met his own bloodshot ones. The man had soft, pale skin and pink lips. His short, dark hair was waxed elegantly over to one side. The small lettering on on his breast pocket told Derek that this must be Stiles. 

He wore a gentle smile that was a practiced balance between calm, sympathetic and hopeful as he extended his hand to Derek. 

"Mr Hale?" 

"Yeah." Derek stood up a little too quickly, grabbing Stiles' hand like it was his lifeline and shaking it hurriedly. "How is she?"

"Stable." Stiles spoke the single word like a spell which banished the worst of Derek's fears. She wasn't dead, or dying. That was something. "I was wondering who her next of kin is? Are your parents on their way?" 

"No parents." Derek didn't want or need to explain. "I'm her next of kin."

Stiles nodded, a simple acceptance that saved Derek the pain of explaining. "Alright. And are you okay with your friend being here while we speak or would you prefer we discuss Cora's treatment in private?" 

"It's fine." He didn't care. He just wanted to know what was happening to his little sister. He wanted this angel in red to tell him that they'd fixed her and that everything would be okay.

"She started to wake up again, so we've given her plenty of pain relief while we did some scans. The good news is that her spine is absolutely fine, so there's no risk that she'll be paralyzed. 

Derek sighed again, tears of relief welling up. 

"But, she's not out of the woods yet. She has a small crack in her skull, but no visible brain damage as yet. More importantly, she has a fracture of her pelvis called an open book fracture, which we'll need to put some screws in to fix. That's pretty major surgery, but, she won't recover without it." 

"Can I see her?" Derek sniffed loudly. In any other situation he would've been mortified at the blubbing mess he was in the face of Stiles' flawless composure.

"I'm sorry." Stiles shook his head. "The problem with pelvic fractures is that they bleed a lot. We had to take her into surgery straight away. She should be out in an hour to ninety minutes. There's a bed waiting for her in the intensive care unit. You'll be able to see her then. You'll get a chance to speak to the surgeon and the consultant in charge of the ICU once she's settled. Is there anything you'd like to ask me now?"

Derek stammered, a thousand questions forming in fragments in his frazzled mind. Eventually, Scott spoke for him. "What do you think will happen to her?" His voice shook with apprehension. 

"There are always risks when undergoing any surgery." Stiles spoke professionally, Scott barely recognized the impersonal tone his best friend had adapted. So this was work-Stiles. It was impressive. "But, she's young and she's healthy. Those are both good signs. It's not at all unlikely that she'll recover, eventually." He stressed the last word carefully. "It will be a long process, but, with rigorous rehabilitation there's no reason she shouldn't make a full recovery. Let's get the surgery out of the way, that's the riskiest bit, then physiotherapy will be able to give you a better picture of things."

"Okay." Derek's eyes dried. It was okay. If Stiles said it would be okay, he believed him. 

"I've asked the Intensive Care team to call  as soon as Cora arrives. I'll come and get you then. Any problems in the meantime find one of my team and ask them to call me back." Stiles gave Derek's hand another squeeze. 

"Thank you." He squeezed back, trying to convey all his gratitude for his sister's life through that small contact. 

"You're more than welcome." Stiles' amber eyes glinted in the fluorescent lights as he turned and calmly glided from the room, his baggy scrubs dancing around his ankles. 

\---------------------------------------

It was nearly two hours before Derek and Scott were taken up to the Intensive Care Unit, surgery had apparently taken longer than expected. 

Derek followed almost on the heels of the nurse's crocks as she lead him through the labyrinth of the hospital, past a large set of double doors marked Theatres A-F and around the corner to a quiet gathering of wards united under the door frame sign of ICU. They sat, tapping their feet anxiously, in the main corridor separating the security coded ward entrances as the nurse, a tired looking Asian woman, disappeared into a side room marked **MDT office**. 

A few minutes later, a familiar set of fiery curls bounced into view as Dr Lydia Martin exited the office, a file of medical notes in her arms and strode purposefully towards them. She and Derek had never met, but, Scott knew her instantly. This wasn't the Lydia of their school days. She wore very little make up, her nails clipped short and unpainted and standard issue purple crocks on her feet. She wore similar scrubs to Stiles, only in green and adorned with the title of ICU consultant. 

"Lyds." Scott was amazed by the transformation. She smiled warmly at them both as they rose to greet her. 

"Scott. It's been too long. You must be Derek." She shook both their hands in turn, her grip firm and assuring. "Pleasure. I'm sorry we're meeting under such difficult circumstances." 

"How is she?" Derek couldn't help but blurt, no matter how much he wanted to be polite. 

"Doing well." Dr Martin's voice was bright, if not a little wry. "I'm sorry, Mr Chow, the surgeon, has had to go straight back into theatre with another patient. But, he tells me that your sisters surgery was a complete success. She lost a lot of blood, which is to be expected, but otherwise, no complications. Would you like to see her?" 

Derek nodded so hard he almost gave himself whiplash and Dr Martin obligingly swiped her hospital ID card against the door scanner and lead them onto one of the wards. The smell of antiseptic was pungent. It was almost eerily quiet, the only noises were the steady bleeps from the various machines hooked up to the numerous patients lined up in their beds in neat rows. 

She lead them up to a cubicle at the far end, drew back the curtain rail and there laid Cora, bruised and dressed in an ugly hospital gown with plain white bandages on her scraped skin and a thin tube tucked under her nostrils. Derek wanted to cry just looking at her. Her ECG bleeped loud and clear, strong, consistent green waves flowing across the black screen. A large bag of clear fluid was dripping slowly into a long plastic tube inserted into her arm. 

"We removed the tube that was used to help her breath once the anaesthetic wore off. She's sleeping, but, when she wakes she may have quite a sore throat and might not be able to speak properly for a little while. That's totally normal and it'll go away before long." 

He nodded, numbly, barely registering her words. He was still transfixed by the broken form of his sister lying before him. 

"How long do you think it'll be until she wakes up?" Scott's voice was barely a whisper. 

"A couple more hours. Her body's had quite a shock and it needs to rest. She'll still be very tired but once she's awake and eating and we're happy she's not going to have any other complications, then we'll move her to a lower dependency unit where she can start physiotherapy." 

"Thank you." Derek regained himself and turned his teary eyes back to her. She flashed him another warm smile, full of immaculately lined up teeth.

"You're very welcome. Now, I understand that you'll want to be close to her, but, I don't want you to exhaust yourself. That won't help her. My advice is give yourself a few minutes, reassure yourself that she's doing well. Then, go home. Wash, eat, sleep and come back tomorrow. We'll call you if anything changes."

Derek opened his mouth to argue but Scott overrode him. "I'll make sure he takes care of himself."

Dr Martin nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Then, unless you have any questions for me, I'll leave you in peace."  


	3. Decisions

Scott was fantastic. 

He took Derek straight home, unpacking his groceries for him while he showered. Derek barely noticing the heat of the water as it rinsed the day's anxious sweat from his skin. When he'd redressed in fresh, comfortable jeans and a T-shirt and had come back downstairs, Scott had two bowls of pasta ready for them.

The sight of it made Derek's stomach turn, he had no appetite. It wasn't until he'd begrudgingly taken his first forkful that he realized he was famished. He'd never got as far as lunch with Cora and had missed dinner. 

They ate in silence, Scott clearing their bowls and glasses away when they were finished. "Do you want me to stay? Or would you rather be left alone for a while?" His voice was gentle, but without pity. Derek kind of loved him for that, he'd never appreciated just how completely the young man he only knew through his sister had his back. 

"You've been great, thank you so much. But, you need to rest too. Go home. If they ring me, you'll be the first to know." 

Scott nodded gratefully. "Call if you need anything." 

Derek smiled gratefully and walked him out, sharing an  intense hug as he climbed into the car. Once he was gone, the house seemed deafeningly silent. He already missed Cora's noisy footsteps, her excessively loud TV shows. He missed her. He didn't want to think about her lying there in that place, surrounded by wires and cold, sterilized surfaces. He lay awake, staring at his bedroom ceiling, for hours before exhaustion finally took him. 

\---------------------------------------------------

He woke naturally as the morning light filtered through his thin curtains. It was peaceful. He felt rested. A pang of guilt struck him as the previous day's memories came flooding back. He snatched his phone off the table. It was nearly half past ten.

**One missed call. One new voicemail message.**

How the hell had he missed that? He slammed his thumb down on the touchscreen and lifted it to his ear, trying to blink away the remaining fogginess of sleep as he listened to the automated voice inform him in her impersonal tone that he had a new message. 

"Good morning, Derek. It's Dr Martin here. Sorry it's so early, hope you're resting well. Just to let you know that Cora is awake and eating, like we hoped. We're going to move her down to Nightingale ward after lunch, where she'll be able to stay more comfortably while physiotherapy make their plans for her rehabilitation and get her ready for transfer home, whenever that will be. If you go to the main reception of the hospital, they'll be able to direct you to the right place. All the best." 

Derek jumped off the mattress, all drowsiness now vanished. He quickly brushed, shaved, showered, ate and dressed before texting Scott an update and driving, less than carefully, back to Beacon Hills General. Luckily, the temperature must have gone up over the previous afternoon as the glassy roads were now wet with slush and considerably less treacherous. 

He stopped by the hospital shop to buy her some chocolate, fruit and nut was her lifelong favorite and a can of energy drink, before asking the receptionist where he could find Nightingale ward. It was a pleasant looking place, tucked away in a quiet corner at the back of the hospital. It had lilac walls and the staff chatted cheerfully as they did their rounds. 

Cora looked rough, there was no way around that. The drip was still there, a new bag of something called Amoxicillin hung over the bed, She greeted him with a tired smirk.

"Hey Bro." He sucked in a deep breath.

"Hey." His throat was suddenly dry. Seeing her alive and hearing her voice was the most intense relief he'd ever felt. She'd had most of what had happened explained to her. She didn't really remember it. She told him he remembered the lights changing and then feeling scared, but, that was it. Derek was more than a little glad, he didn't imagine there were any happy memories to be found in the gap in her mental timeline.

She didn't remember Stiles, or his team. Didn't even remember being in A and E or surgery or anything until she woke up in the ICU.

"That Dr Martin is fantastic." Her voice was full of awe. "I dunno what drugs she gave me but I felt like shit when I woke up and none of the others could figure it out, but, she just sorted it." Derek could tell she still felt kind of shit, she'd just had screws put into her shattered pelvis for Christ's sake, but, clearly Lydia had done something that had made her feel a whole lot less bad than she had. He made a mental note to go up to ICU with Scott when she wasn't too busy and thank her for that. For everything, they'd all been brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. 

Scott arrived, baring a large bunch of fat, red grapes. Cora took the piss out of the cliche but accepted them gratefully nonetheless before promptly going back to sleep. The two men sat chatting in hushed voices for a short while before heading back upstairs back to the ICU. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

Stiles rubbed his palms against his tired eyes, chucking his scrubs into the overflowing laundry bin as he threw his satchel over his shoulder and headed out of the changing rooms back into the main body of the A and E department. He was almost at the doors when a high pitched voice called to him across the relatively quiet hallway. 

He turned and saw the familiar face of Lydia Martin, as dazzling as ever, stethoscope bouncing where it hung around her neck as she bounded up to him. 

"I've just clocked off." He whined. 

"Yeah, yeah, me too." She grinned, wickedly. "I've got a present for you." 

He quirked one eyebrow as she thrust a sheet of paper into his hands. It was adorned with neat, almost archaic handwriting which swirled in stark contrast along the white background. It was a phone number. 

"What's this?" He shook his head at her beaming expression, totally lost. 

"Scott came up to see me, to say thanks for looking after Cora Hale, the woman in the RTA from yesterday lunchtime. Apparently, they play on the same lacrosse team. Well, as they were leaving, her brother asked me to pass this on to you. He said that you'd been been...what were his words." She clearly remembered, she was just drawing it out to pique Stiles' interest. He didn't rise to it, too tired. 

"He called you his hero." She raised the back of her hand to her forehead in an over-dramatic damsel in distress impression. "Putting all the shattered pieces back together again and saving the day. Scott had to give him a bit of a confidence boost, but, he wants to thank you over a drink sometime." 

Stiles laughed incredulously, shaking his head. "This." He brandished the paper. "Is an inappropriate use of a communication form."

Lydia rolled her eyes heavily. "I didn't file it. It was just the only paper I had to hand." 

"It's unethical." 

"Why?" She arched one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "She's not your patient any more, Orthopedics have her. He's just a friend of Scott's." 

"No, he's not." 

Lydia reached for the paper. "Well, you won't want that then." 

Stiles lifted it out of her reach. "I didn't say that." She folded her arms, a victorious smug spreading across her face. He agonized for a moment or two more before conceding. "I'll bear it in mind. Cheers, Lyds." 

She shrugged nonchalantly, already turning away to head back into the depths of the hospital. "Gottcha back dude." She called over her shoulder, adding for anyone nearby to here. "I've been saying you need to get out more for years."

\----------------------------------------------

Stiles slammed the door to his flat with a careless bang, toeing off his trainers and heading to the kitchen. He took a deep, refreshing breath of air from the freezer as he retrieved ice for his whiskey from the bottom draw. His head spun a little as he stood and it dawned on him that he hadn't really eaten all day, hadn't had time. It had only died down as his shift had ended, sod's law. 

He took the crumpled paper with Derek's phone number on it from his jean's pocket and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet. He stood staring at it for a long while, mulling it over in his head. The chilled drink burned a soothing path down his throat and smoldered in his belly as he thought. Eventually, as his thoughts became fuzzier, he shook his head and decided it was a problem for tomorrow. He had one more shift to get through and then four luxurious days off. 

He made himself a bowl of wheatabix, too drained to cook and took a short but entirely necessary shower before falling into bed. He didn't even register his head hitting the pillow before he was gone from the world of awareness and into the undulating land of dreams. 

He dreamed of bright red phones, crying out their commands in shrill rings. He saw ghostly versions of his team as they glided between tasks he couldn't quite make out. He heard the sobs of relatives, the pained cries of patients. All of it was illuminated in harsh fluorescent light. 

Eventually, it began to fade, the clammer dying down. He saw his dad, alone at his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His face shifted between the familiar fatherly features Stiles recognized from his adolescence and Stiles own features, grown into a stark family resemblance. He didn't want to be like that. For years he'd secretly hoped that his dad would find someone else, Scott's mum maybe, whom he could be happy with again. He never did and had lived an almost entirely professional existence until his heart disease had final caught up with him a couple years after Stiles' graduation. 

He'd vowed never to fall into the same trap, but, with no remaining family and a demanding career, which he was passionate about, he had completely. He had friends, plenty of them. He knew people from the gym he used and from work and Scott and Allison, of course. But, there was no one special. Maybe that was why Derek's unexpected invitation intrigued him so much. He knew of Derek, of course.

He actually knew Cora through Scott, not that they'd met more than a handful of times. He'd heard about the mysterious and wonderful Derek Hale through them. Admired lawyer at an established firm, specializing in organizing adoptions, he apparently did a lot of pro-bono charity work. His face had been plastered on community newsletters for everything from food banks to the local swimming club, apparently Derek had been quite the little merman in his youth. Stiles actually remembered seeing his name engraved on a number of the trophies proudly displayed at Beacon Hills High School. 

He was quite the...well, Stiles had no idea really. But he wanted to know. He wanted to know, badly. That much was immediately obvious. The wisdom of such a move was more complicated. Sure he and Cora had a semi-personal relationship, but, he could justify having been her doctor as it was an emergency and no one else was available. But, to go on a date with the brother of a former patient? It made Stiles uncomfortable, despite Lydia's assurances. 

He was still preoccupied as he got ready for work the next day, finally banishing the thoughts only when he'd changed into his scrubs and sat down in the A and E MDT office to receive the handover from the other consultant, Dr Isles, before starting his shift. 


	4. Date

Cora progressed well. 

The physiotherapist told them on the first day that it would be six to nine months before she was back to full strength, assuming everything went according to plan, but, they'd been prepared for that. He cheered her on as she fought her way through the first week of rigorous training. She'd sworn and cried out as she'd made attempt after attempt to haul herself up by the bed rail and into the armchair alongside. 

Her eyes had been streaming by the time they'd finished. Derek was so proud of her and told her so. The physiotherapist, a muscular Portuguese man with kind eyes and strong arms, had been pleased with her initial abilities. He was hopeful that they could have her home within a fortnight, if Derek was there to help her. Of course he would be.

Every day Derek went to see her before and after work. She eventually told him to piss off. She had a kindle, her laptop with Netflix and news pages at her fingertips and sitting in silence with Derek, all possible conversation exhausted, was apparently more irritation than comfort. She'd refused antidepressants, she wasn't depressed. She was angry, her frustration with her body's agonizing rebellion against even the most basic of her commands was evident. 

Derek settled for visiting her once every second day, texting her twice daily anyway to ask how she was getting on and whether there was anything she needed. There rarely was, she usually just told him to get a life and stop worrying. 

He didn't tell her that Scott had talked him into leaving his number for Stiles. He'd suggested Derek let him set him up on a blind date more than once in the past with the renowned Dr Stilinski, top of his class at school in numerous subjects, he could've done anything. His maths grades made him a prime candidate for work in finance, well paid and glamorous with basic office hours. Instead, he'd chosen a career in medicine, five arduous years of medical school, where he remained crowned king of his peer group, followed by eight years of on the job training to become a consultant. 

Derek couldn't imagine how hard that must've been. The financial payoffs in a medical career are a long time coming and even then, the time and energy commitment was immense. Stiles hadn't chosen a cushy, outpatients department, he was on the front line in Emergency medicine. There was only one possible reason anyone would go into such a career. 

Love. 

Love, not for any particular person, but, for all people. Scott said that Stiles had always been the kindest person he'd ever met, even as a child. They'd actually met one lunchtime when Scott's favorite and thoroughly ancient rucksack had torn open, spilling his books all over the crowded corridor. While other students had carried on obliviously, Stiles had immediately dropped to the ground to help a complete stranger gather up his scattered things. 

It had set the tone for the rest of Stiles' life, by all accounts. Scott confided in Derek that he'd lost his mother young to an illness Derek couldn't remember. Apparently, once the initial aversion to all things medical had subsided, Stiles had actually been inspired by the people who'd eased his mother make her final journey through her illness and had gone eagerly to join their ranks. 

It was all in the name of love. 

Every evening Derek checked his phone to see if Stiles had called. Every night he was disappointed. After a few days he began to accept that it probably wasn't going to happen, which saddened him more than was actually reasonable. It wasn't for over a fortnight, when Derek was emerging from the dim lighting of the pool and into the dazzling, snowy brightness of the morning before work that a message from an unfamiliar number appeared on his screen.

**Hey. Is your offer of a drink still on?**

Derek smiled to himself. Oh, it was on. 

It was so on.

\---------------------------------------------

The Cinnamon Club was a classy private bar in the very centre of Beacon Hills. Derek hadn't even known Stiles was a member. He went fairly often, normally trying to impress clients. Stiles wasn't so much of a regular, usually only attending when he needed to join more esteemed members of his profession to walk the dicey political tightrope that was being a consultant. 

Which is why Stiles felt so out of place, handing his jacket and card to the doorman before getting a double G'n'T with lime and settling into a booth in the corner, away from the chatty, after work crowd. The smart black leather held him upright in his seat as his eyes swung lazily around the room, admiring the ornate mahogany furniture and prim serving staff. Stiles' dark jeans and close fitting V neck were unique among the various quality of suit the other members wore, presumably all having come straight from the office. 

It reminded Stiles of the slight distance he'd kept from the other professionals in his wage bracket. He hadn't been born to this, didn't work in some oversized office for an excessive salary. He was a physician, as sharp as he was tough. He composed himself with an unassuming grace he and Lydia had learned together, both consciously ensuring that they never allowed thoughts of pompous arrogance to seep into their tired brains. He was no saint. neither was she, but, they didn't want to be like that. 

He sat pondering the club's expensively groomed clients. Was the jittery young man with wide eyes and narrow frame abusing cocaine now he had the money to do so? Was the overweight, middle aged man with a poppy red nose usually as drunk and obnoxious as his current state suggested? 

Again, he hadn't really taken the time to eat properly while on shift today. So the tension of his worn muscles was already beginning to loosen its' grip on his body when he saw Derek, dressed far more appropriately to the setting, greet the doorman by name, accepting a drink he didn't need to ask for from the barman before scanning the room and spotting Stiles. His greeting smile was radiant in the darkened bar area, infused with honest good will and enthusiasm. Their locked gaze was broken as a man in his late thirties stepped up to Stiles' booth, a martini glass in each hand. He had a short beard that didn't portray the same precision care that Derek's designer stubble must have required. His eyes were dark, his voice husky as he flashed Stiles an arrogant half-smile. 

"I didn't know what you were drinking, but, a dry martini is always welcome in my view." 

Stiles regarded the intruder coolly without response. 

"I'm Micheal Stark. Head of Stark and co. financial services" 

"How lovely for you." Stiles smiled tightly, stretching the thin mask over his annoyance. 

"What do you do?" The stuffed shirt actually winked at him, did he think this was going well? 

"I work in A and E." he answered bluntly. "Messy business." 

"That must make you Dr Stilinski." he resisted the urge to flinch. Fuck. He hadn't considered the guy would already know his name, damn cliquey middle class gossips. "I've heard a lot about you." 

"I wish I could say the same." This guy was still not getting the message. 

Just as he was considering abandoning subtlety and telling the guy where to go, Derek's athletic frame stepped around this Micheal Stark person and slid into the booth gracefully. He threw one muscled arm over Stiles' narrow shoulders and pressed lingering kiss to his lips with unjustified familiarity. Stiles was surprised, but, it was pleasant so he complied. Something about Derek made him want to trust him. Micheal Stark stood in dumb silence, still pondering his next move as Derek turned to him, relieving him of the two martini's.

"Thanks." He beamed up at him. "Keep them coming." 

Stark visibly stiffened, puffing his little chest out through his overpriced threads. "I'm not the waiter." 

Derek frowned in mock puzzlement as he replaced his arm around his date. "Why are you standing there, then?" His defeated opponent bristled quietly for a moment longer before conceding defeat and leaving them in peace. The couple turned to each other with matching smirks. 

"That was nice." Derek put one martini into Stiles' hand and clinked it against his own in a private toast to their little victory. 

"Yes, it was." Stiles' cheeks stretched upwards involuntarily as he smiled his agreement. "He knew who I was. I'd bet he knows who you are too."

Derek shrugged gently, careful not the shake Stiles' arm too hard in case he spilled his cocktail. "Who cares?" 

Clearly not Derek. A prominent figure, Stiles' expected him to be more cautious, to mind what people thought and said about him. It was actually very refreshing that he didn't, not in any small way because Stiles felt kind of dumbstruck by him. When he wasn't in streams of tears, Derek was pretty damn impressive to behold. He was broad and handsome and carried himself with the easy confidence of a man who was used to being liked by everyone he met. It made sense. 

"How are you?" 

"A little tired, but, good. Thanks. You?" 

Derek laughed. "Much the same. Work, y'know." 

He nodded, he knew all too well. "How's Cora?" 

Derek's eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. "She's getting on really well. Faster than expected. Should have her home soon." 

"That is good." Stiles was impressed, but, it was to be expected. Cora Hale's reputation on the pitch was one of a force to be reckoned with. Of course she was powering through her physio. 

The conversation stalled, both drivers decidedly out of practice with dates and unsure how to proceed. He didn't know about Derek, his frame felt perfectly sturdy against his, but, Stiles was definitely feeling the alcohol beginning to take effect, slowing his thoughts and erasing his inhibitions, making him reckless. 

"So, how is it a guy like you isn't already spoken for?" He dived in with uncharacteristic tang. "I was more than a little surprised when Lydia gave me your number" 

"I could ask you the same thing." Derek winked at him, teasingly. "Just never met the right guy, I suppose. Scott suggested I let him set us up a couple of times, actually, told me a bit about you, but, I never got around to it. It wasn't until I saw you in action that I began to think about what I might be missing. Why haven't you found yourself some gorgeous genius to settle down with you and beg you to father his children?" 

Stiles laughed, a little of his nervousness returning. "I'm flattered. No idea. Work just always came first I suppose. I was so preoccupied with getting up to consultant level and then trying to actually be some good at it that other things just didn't get done. Scott and Cora mentioned you to me too. I meant to get around to calling you once I'd got settled in at work, but, then we met unexpectedly." 

They shared a brief smile at the memory, able to laugh at the abstractness of it in hindsight. "So," Derek took another sip of his martini. I've heard all about Dr Stilinski. Tell me about Stiles." 

\----------------------------------------

They spoke for hours, sliding into an easy conversational flow, like old friends describing totally different people rather than two perfect strangers getting to know each other for the first time. They sipped at more martinis as the other spoke, mirroring each others comfortable smiles as they talked about their families, their work, their hobbies and political views. They had a surprising amount in common, not that Stiles had expected Derek to be a Trump supporter or anything, but, it was a little uncanny. The phrase "No way! Me too!" was quickly becoming overused. 

Eventually, the last bell sounded and they were brought their coats. Stiles wobbled as he shrugged it onto his shoulders, the evening's alcohol having soaked quickly through his empty stomach and rushing up to his head. Derek moved his arm from where it had rested throughout their conversation across Stiles' shoulders to around his waist, steadying him as they moved out into the clubs car park. 

"You can't drive." 

Stiles laughed "Don't need to tell me that." he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I'll call a cab. You can't either." 

Derek waited quietly as Stiles ordered the taxi and tucked his phone back into his jeans. "Hey." His muscular arm squeezed Stiles' narrow waist gently. "You said you've got tomorrow off. Why not stay the night at mine and we'll come back and get the cars tomorrow?" 

"Sure." Stiles had never considered himself naive, he just didn't want to end their evening yet. He didn't really consider what Derek was suggesting until they were climbing out the cab in front of the Hale house. It was a pretty impressive place, luxurious but without extravagance. No glass chandeliers or ostentatious decor.

Derek got them a glass of red wine each. Stiles had never claimed to be a connoisseur and had no way of justifying why he thought it was delicious. They carried on talking into the early hours. At long last, they seemed to have covered every topic they knew of and the leaned against each other in content quiet. Stiles tilted his heavy head back against Derek's shoulder, inhaling the rich scent of his skin. The older man turned to him, his designer stubble scraping lightly against his delicate skin as he pressed there lips together gently.

It was nice. It was very nice. Stiles felt happy, he felt safe.

He felt loved. 


	5. The morning after

Stiles woke up without opening his eyes, his lids still heavy. His tongue was dry and tasted of last nights wine, its' flavor now distinctly sour in his mouth, He took a few deep breaths to steady his rolling stomach before stretching the stiffness from his long limbs and looking around. 

He didn't know where he was. His eyes flew wide open in a brief second of panic before he remembered. 

Derek. 

He turned his head on the pillow and his brain spun inside his skull. When his eyes rolled back around to face forward again he saw the empty space in the bed next to him. He was alone in Derek's bedroom. He sighed heavily and surveyed the room. it was pretty minimalist, a simple desk and laptop in front of the window looking out into the preserve and a wardrobe on the opposite wall were the only furniture. It was impeccably neat, not a trace of dirt or item of clothing in view. 

Putting the heels of his palms against the mattress, he pushed himself up, swaying dangerously as he swung his legs around onto the floor. There was a small bedside table with a short lamp on it he hadn't noticed before. Beneath the lampshade stood a glass of water and a scrap of paper. He gulped the cool liquid down greedily before holding the note up in front of his heavy eyelids. 

**Sorry. Had to go to work, didn't wanna wake you. I had a really great night. Help yourself from the kitchen.**

He re-read it three times before any of it really sank in. When it did, he felt like a large rock had just fallen into his stomach, dropping it down towards his feet. 

That was that then. 

He discarded the offending paper on the table and laid his heavy head in his hands. How stupid could you get? He'd met an awesome guy, the first in years and what had he done? Got drunk and made a slut and a fool of himself. So Derek had made the best of the situation, had his fun and now he knew Stiles wasn't boyfriend material. Total lack of class. 

Classic mistake. 

He silently begged that Derek would at least have the decency to keep Stiles' humiliation between them. He didn't want Scott and Lydia to know, but he'd live with it if they found out. He really didn't want gossip to spread around the rest of the Cinnamon Club. If it did, you could bet it would be all around the hospital within the week. He'd be a laughing stock.

Derek wouldn't do that. Somewhere in the deep fog of his mind he knew that. Derek was a nice guy, a really nice guy. 

It was Stiles who'd behaved like a dick, jumping his bones the first chance he got. 

He only got another glass of water from the kitchen, carefully washing, drying and replacing it while he waited for a cab. The driver could tell he wasn't in the mood to chat and took him back to the Cinnamon Club in tense silence. He didn't even wait for his change, just got out and straight into his car before anyone could see him. 

He hiccuped as he turned the ignition on, the smell of wine flushing through his nostrils. He didn't think he was still over the limit, he just felt like shit. He didn't care enough at this point. He drove extra slowly, gaining a hell of a lot of abuse from the other drivers. 

He pulled into his drive just as the phone in his pocket buzzed. It was Scott. 

**Hey dude, how was your date?**

He groaned and decided to ignore it, chucking the phone on his bed as he stripped off his stale clothes and stumbled into the shower to scrub away his shame. 

It didn't work, He stood beneath the water for over twenty minutes, rinsing every trace of the night from his body, but, his memory refused to be cleansed. At least he didn't feel quite as ill when he emerged, freshly dressed, to get himself toast and tea. 

It'll be fine, he told himself. 

It'll all be fine. 

Stiles didn't text Derek that day, not even to acknowledge his note. He didn't know what Derek would say, he just knew that whatever it was it wouldn't be anything Stiles wanted to hear. 

So he left it. He left it all day and when he crawled into bed that night he left it. He left it in the morning when he got himself ready for work and he left it when he was chucking his bag into the locker and pulling on his scrubs.

He refused to waste time tormenting himself by thinking about it, about him. Derek. He didn't even want to say his name in his head. He focused on the job. 

72 year old man, increasing back pain and critically low blood pressure. Give fluid challenge while confirming ruptured AAA. Fill him with O neg if correct then transfer to surgery as soon as blood typing comes back. 

8 year old girl, greenstick fracture of the humerus. Reduce, plaster and then re-image. Investigate possible safeguarding concern.

42 year old male smoker. Feels very unwell with hypernutraemia, but, normal creatinine and urea. Get a CXR for possible lung malignancy. 

On it went, just face after face after face. Derek Hale was pushed forcibly from his mind by the long list of people in need of his care. While tired, he felt a hell of a lot better when his shift finally came to an end. He even smiled to himself, pleased with his day's productivity as he chucked his scrubs in the laundry and got his bag from the locker. 

He felt pleased right up until his phone lit up, three words slapping him back to reality. 

**Message-Derek Hale**

Shit. 

His stood staring at the screen for a long moment. 

"You alright, boss?" 

He reapplied his gentle smile as he lifted his head to greet Lisa, a short, dark woman currently in her first year out of medical school. She was keen and capable in equal balance, able to do much by herself and clever enough to know when she needed help. She was a nice girl. 

"Yeah. Just tired." He shrugged. "Not got the stamina these days." 

They laughed at his not-very-funny statement as he shouldered his bag and headed for the car park, leaving the hustle and bustle of A and E behind. It wasn't until he was safely in his car that he opened the message. 

**Hi. Hope I didn't upset you by leaving. You never called. If you don't wanna then that's fine but I'd really like to see you again. Derek.**

That had him frowning. The fuck? Was Derek just looking to get his leg over again? He didn't think so.

Stiles brain had spent hours puzzling through blood counts, radiography reports, examination findings, he was razor sharp, but, this had him at a standstill. Eventually, he forced himself to make an answer.

**I didn't know if you'd wanna see me again, after...**

The response was almost instant. 

**Absolutely! I'm really sorry, I didn't want you to feel one-night-standed but I couldn't not be at work that day. I really like you, I had a great night talking to you, I wanna do that part again. Do you?**

An almost disbelieving smile spread across his wide eyed face as his overworked brain processed the message. 

Oh, he did. He most definitely did. 

 


End file.
